


you’re no stranger to mortality

by pacificnewt



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacificnewt/pseuds/pacificnewt
Summary: “What goes through your mind as you’re killing somebody?”“What goes through your mind when you think about killing me?”





	you’re no stranger to mortality

“Your hands are calloused.”

“I know.”

“And strong.”

“Mhm.”

“Powerful...”

Sylar’s voice resigned itself to a whisper and he half-smiled. “What are you getting at?”

Peter blinked. His clumsy fingers continued to stroke Sylar’s hands, doing his best to avoid eye contact. Sylar was propped up in bed, back against the wall, with Peter in his lap. The alarm clock on the nightstand flashed 12:03 a.m. in the dark of their bedroom.

“Nothing.” Peter answered the question quickly and laced their fingers together.

Though Peter couldn’t see it, Sylar frowned. “I know you well enough to know when it isn’t nothing. What’s on your mind?”

“You are,” Peter mumbled, resting his head on Sylar’s chest. 

Sylar laughed quietly and lifted one of his hands to comb it through Peter’s hair. “What about me, then?”

Peter sighed quietly and took Sylar’s hand back. He massaged his fingertips, felt each groove that accented his knuckles, and Peter wondered if Sylar had power coursing through his veins rather than blood. “What goes through your mind as you’re killing somebody?”

Peter winced, expecting a harsh reaction, but all he heard was Sylar’s breath hitch. They both stiffened, a pang in Sylar’s chest and a burst in Peter’s. Sylar exhaled carefully, his other hand trailing back through Peter’s hair then down his back. “What goes through your mind when you think about killing me?”

“I don’t think about killing you anymore,” Peter said, voice strained. His small statement came out a pleading demand, as if begging Sylar to acknowledge those days were long behind them.

Sylar lifted their laced hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand. “What did you think about when you did?”

Peter glanced at the clock. 12:06 a.m. “I don’t know. I was chasing a satisfaction that wasn’t really there.”

“How did it make you feel, imagining my life at your mercy?” Peter could practically hear Sylar’s rapid heartbeat through his chest. He was breathing heavier.

“Good.” Peter unlaced their hands to stroke up Sylar’s arm, his voice shaking. “Amazing.”

“Then your satisfaction was there all along.” Sylar bent a finger under Peter’s chin, tilted his head upward, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He pulled back as Peter’s lips trailed downwards, peppering kisses to his jaw then on his neck. Sylar rested his head against the wall and held Peter at his waist. “Death is about strength. Killing is about power. I know these things, but still I’m blinded. As soon as I lift my fingers my mind is blank. It’s enveloping until it’s done and too late.” He sighed quietly and Peter pulled back.

“I doubt I’d be able to stop thinking,” Peter mused. He brought a hand up to caress Sylar’s cheek.

There was a pause, then Sylar grabbed Peter by the wrist. “Do you trust me, Peter?” 12:10 a.m. Sylar’s voice was gentle but Peter could tell his gaze was harsh. 

“More than I trust myself.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Sylar took Peter’s hand and placed it on his throat. “Good.”

Peter pulled his hand away as if Sylar were a hot stove and he’d been burned. “What’s that about?”

“You’re no stranger to mortality, Peter.” Sylar calmly took his hand and put it back on his bare neck. “You trust me. I’m not going to die.”

“You’re just a man,” Peter murmured, hand twitching on his skin.

“You want to do it, I know you do. See the feeling for yourself.” Peter held his breath.

It was a few more moments before he moved again. He shifted in Sylar’s lap and steadied his hand, slowly and hesitantly tightening his grip. 

Their eyes met in what little light was in through the windows. The curtains were pulled back to reveal the life of the city around them, dark but bright and vivacious. Peter could see Sylar’s eyes were wide, blown full of something— anticipation? Excitement? The hair so routinely pushed back out of his forehead now hung in his face. It was unbecoming of him to unravel so quickly.

Peter’s hand grew tenser, tighter. Sylar gasped for a breath. “Say my name.”

“Sylar...” Peter croaked, not budging.

Sylar seemed displeased. “My name,” he repeated.

The man in his lap fell silent, then started to shake. “Gabriel?” Hardly audible.

Sylar ghosted his hand over Peter’s and felt him tighten his grip on instinct. The pressure on his throat was almost too much. He struggled to choke in a breath before he demanded, “Say it like you mean it.” 12:15 a.m.

“Gabriel!” Peter cried, releasing him at last. Sylar coughed and inhaled deeply, his hand massaging at his neck. Peter was panting, running his hands through his hair and rubbing his eyes. Sylar abruptly pulled him close and kissed him again.

“Are you okay?” Peter muttered against his lips.

“Never better.” Sylar flipped their position, pushing Peter onto his back so he could pin him. He kissed him again, hard, and Peter gasped.

“I know that feeling now,” he said, his arms draped around the back of Sylar’s head. “The blindness you mentioned. I felt it.”

“You weren’t trying to hurt me. You weren’t blinded by violence, Peter.” Sylar dipped his head and positioned his mouth at Peter’s ear. “You were blinded by love.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love them gn


End file.
